


bittersweet and strange

by sanzuh



Series: tale as old as time [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27122837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh
Summary: Maege Mormont and Galbart Glover arrive at Castle Black with Robb's will and a letter that was given to them by Howland Reed."Sansa want man, not wolf," he gathers.She almost tells him that he's wrong, that he must be a man, that a wolf could never kiss her like that, but she bites her tongue and pulls back to look at him. "Oh, Jon." She shakes her head. "That's not it. I do want you. But things aren't that simple.""Yes, simple," he insists, placing her hand over his heart again. "Sansa."She takes his hand and mimics him, placing it over her own heart, smiling up at him. "Jon," she whispers.A grin pulls up his lips. "See? Simple."She shakes her head again. "No, Jon, you don't understand. It's complicated."
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: tale as old as time [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968514
Comments: 191
Kudos: 269





	1. Chapter 1

If they hadn't been interrupted, Sansa would have let Jon kiss her. Try as she might to deny it, she's quite certain about that. She'd also quite forgotten that he was still completely naked until he leapt out of the bed to snarl at the door.

It's a fortunate thing she doesn't have time to dwell on it right now. Visitors have come to Castle Black to see Jon, but she can't allow that. She's going out to meet them in the King's Tower. She dons her cloak and keeps her head covered for now, and Brienne stays.

Sansa finds Jon's guests in the Tower Hall, and she watches Satin offer them bread and salt. It's a small retinue and they look dirty and travel-weary. Their leaders are an older man and woman who both have the hardened and long-faced look of the North about them. The tall man looks lean under his heavy fur cloak, his lusterless brown hair is streaked with grey and his face is wind-burned and lined. The woman is short and stout, with grey hair. She's clad in ringmail and she has an axe on her hip. She studies Sansa and Brienne as they approach them, slapping her companion on the arm to get his attention.

"Where is the Lord Commander, lass?" the woman asks her directly. Sansa recognizes the bear on her jerkin now. "No one around here seems to know where he is."

"Lady Mormont," Sansa greets her. "There has been an attack," she explains to her and the man she's identified as Lord Glover by the mailed-fist pin holding his cloak together. "I'm afraid the Lord Commander has been incapacitated, and he's unable to meet with you at the moment."

"And who are you?" Lord Glover asks her. "His nursemaid?"

Brienne takes a step forward, her hand on the pommel of her sword, but Sansa holds up a hand and removes her hood. "I am Sansa Stark, Lord Glover, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's." There is shock and disbelief on their faces. "This is Lady Brienne of Tarth, whom I've taken into my service and who has been exceptional and most loyal in fulfilling her duties."

"We-we believed you were dead, my lady," Lord Glover stammers.

Lady Mormont acknowledges her with a bow of her head, but then she grins at her. "It's good to see you alive and well, Lady Stark."

 _Lady Stark._ Being called by that name doesn't feel quite right to Sansa. Mother was Lady Stark, she is just Sansa, but she won't correct Lady Mormont. 

"What are the prospects for the Lord Commander's recovery?" Lord Glover asks her. "When do you think he'll be better? We have urgent business with him. Will he be fully capable again once he recovers?"

She should have thought about answers to this series of overwhelming questions before she agreed to meet with them. "I'm afraid I am not sure."

"The Lord Commander can wait, Gal," Lady Mormont waves away his questions. "Lady Stark being here changes things."

"King Robb was clear," he mutters.

"Aye, but a lot has happened since the Young Wolf sent us up the Neck to share his plans and deliver his will." She turns to look up at Lord Glover's face, who meets her eyes, and then she exhales slowly. "Be that as it may, Lady Stark has the right to read the contents of his will as much as Jon Snow does."

Lord Glover gives her a sharp nod, though he's slow and reluctant to reach into his cloak and produce a parcel of parchment, which he then hands to Sansa. It's small and the wax seal on it is a grey wolf's head. She breaks it and opens the letter, smoothing it out and gripping Brienne's arm as she recognizes the handwriting.

"My lady?" Brienne whispers, and Sansa squeezes her elbow.

She runs her fingers over the parchment, following the words without reading them, imagining how her brother's hand must have moved over the parchment as he wrote them. She tries to force back the tears that are threatening to well up in her eyes. She takes a deep breath, and then she starts reading. 

_I, Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, hereby declare my half-brother, Eddard Stark's natural son, formerly known as Jon Snow, to be legitimate, and from this day on, give him the right to carry the name Jon Stark._

_I also name him as my heir presumptive, until I have fathered an heir of my own. If I should die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North, and in that case, I also appoint him and his sons after him to inherit my seat, Winterfell and the title of Lord of Winterfell, preceding the claims of all others._

Sansa can't tear her eyes away from Robb's last words. _Preceding the claims of all others._ She feels a sharp, icy pang in her stomach. Robb must have meant her claim. 

Lord Glover's face has softened when she glances up again. "I am sorry, my lady, this must be hard for you to read, but your brother felt compelled to do this, because of your marriage to the Imp."

Of course he did. He had to protect the North from falling into Lannister hands, even if meant sacrificing her, his own sister. 

"The Imp is dead now," Maege Mormont points out. 

And so is Harry, who was supposed to give her the might of the Vale. Now all she can do is hope that Lord Royce's plan will work and that he will keep his word. Was it right what she did? Will the lords of the Vale flock to their side now, or are any of them still truly loyal to Lord Baelish? She may have created a war instead of providing a solution. 

Does any of it even matter anymore, if the lords of the North want Jon instead of her? He might be whole again one day, and capable of ruling, but there is still a chance he will not. She shakes her head, she'll have time to think about all of that later. 

She straightens her shoulders and thanks Glover and Mormont with a smile. "I know how you must have longed to return to your daughters, Lady Mormont. And you, Lord Glover, I can't imagine what it must have felt like to learn the Ironborn had taken Deepwood Motte. But instead of returning home, you chose to carry out this task my brother had given you, obeying him and proving your allegiance even after his death. Your loyalty will not be forgotten."

"Lyra and Jory are right here with me," Lady Mormont answers, pointing to two dark-haired young women, one short and stout like her mother, and the other lanky and awkward. "But I do miss my little Lyanna. She's only ten."

"I've heard Stannis Baratheon has driven the Ironborn from Deepwood Motte," Glover tells her. "And I'm grateful for it. Are Queen Selyse and the Princess still here?"

"No," Sansa answers. She was informed that they had left after it had come to a brawl between some of Selyse's men at arms and the Wildlings. "The Queen has travelled south to join her husband the King."

"There's something else," Lady Mormont whispers when Lord Glover has returned to his men, leaving them alone. "We stayed at Greywater Watch for a while, and Lord Reed bid me to deliver this letter from your father to your half-brother. I trust you will give it to him, my lady?"

"Of course, Lady Mormont," Sansa answers her, accepting the second letter. 

After making sure Satin will be able to provide anything Glover and Mormont's party might need, Sansa bids them goodbye. and returns to the room behind the armoury with Brienne. When they're inside again, she hands her sworn sword Robb's will and tells her to read it. 

Jon is in front of the fire, staring into the flames, and he hasn't bothered to put on any clothes. Sansa's face pulls into a frown as she looks at him. Satin and Tormund told her he was afraid of fire, but now he appeared to be fascinated by it. She walks over to the bed to retrieve a blanket and returns to him to cover him with it. Her hand lingers on his shoulder, and he covers it with his own warm one. 

_Would you steal my claim, Jon?_ It doesn't really matter to her, not truly, even more so since her claim to Winterfell has brought her nothing but misery. All she wants is to be safe and to go home, with him, the last of her family. But learning of this will of Robb's has made her a bit queasy. She's seen enough in the south to understand that this might mean trouble. Perhaps it doesn't matter what Jon wants, as long as he's in this vulnerable state, people might take advantage of him.

 _How could you betray me like this, Robb?_ She believed she'd buried any disappointment and anger she had felt toward her brother for not coming to her rescue with the guilt she'd felt over them when he had died, but now she can feel them bubbling up inside of her again, overwhelming her. 

She turns away from Jon to find Brienne staring at Robb's will with a deep frown on her face. "Forgive me, my lady," she says when she sees Sansa looking at her, "I mean no disrespect, but I don't think your brother is fit to rule anything anymore."

Sansa purses her lips. "He won't be like this forever," she counters.

"How can you be certain?" Brienne asks, shaking her head.

She can't, but she must believe it. She will find a way to help him. 

Brienne takes her leave soon after, and she's alone with Jon again. She should probably try to get him to put on some clothes, but she just sits down next to him, resisting the urge to cuddle up to him. She shouldn't have bothered. She's only sat there for a couple of moments, when he wraps his arm around her, draping the blanket over her shoulders as well.

"Sansa sad?" he asks her.

She shrugs and huffs in a very unladylike manner and he tugs her closer. She tilts her head to rest her cheek on his shoulder. She allows herself to stay like that for a while, but then she pulls away from, putting some distance between them.

She can see the confusion and disappointment in Jon's face when he turns to look at her, but he doesn't make any attempt to move closer again. She tears her eyes away from him and turns to look at the flames, closing her eyes as she lets the glow of the fire warm her and comfort her.

"They told me you were afraid of fire," she mutters as she opens her eyes again.

He is quiet as he pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he frowns. "Fire hurt. They put Jon in fire. Ghost hurt."

They tried to burn his body, but he woke up when the fire of his pyre had died out and there was nothing left around him but ashes. Gods, she had no idea he remembered that, or that he he had been aware of what was happening. She can't even imagine what it must have felt like to be subjected to such excruciating pain and be powerless against it.

She reaches out to brush his hair away from his temple and lets him lean into her touch, brushing his cheekbone with her thumb. She should probably say something, but she doesn't know how to put her feelings on what was done to him into words, so she returns to her earlier question. 

"But you're not afraid anymore?"

He covers her hand with his own. "Sansa keep Jon safe."

She blinks back her tears and tries to swallow the lump in her throat. _I will,_ she promises him in a silent vow. When she shifts, she feels the letter she's tucked into the bodice of her gown. She takes it out and shows it to Jon. 

"I have something for you," she tells him, trying to hand it to him. "It's a letter from our lord father." He stares at it, but doesn't take it from her.

"Don't you wish to read it, Jon?"

His brow furrows before he shakes his head. "You read it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guess as to what might be in Ned's letter? 😁


	2. Chapter 2

Lovely moodboard made by [vivilove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove)

And another gorgeous [one](https://palominojacoby.tumblr.com/post/636716480223952896/moodboard-for-direwolfjon-s-series-tale-as-old) by [PalominoOnCrutches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalominoOnCrutches)

* * *

Sansa feels different when she opens her father's letter than she did when she started reading Robb's, numb somehow. A scrap of yellowed cloth falls into her lap as she unfolds the parchment. Someone embroidered a blue rose on it, and the words _"I'm so sorry."_

She meant to read the letter aloud to Jon, but as she skims the parchment, her eyes find words she should be able to understand, but they don't make sense to her. She sees names: Jon, Lyanna, Aemon, Robert, even Catelyn. _I'm sorry,_ she keeps seeing, so many times _I'm sorry._ Lies and truth. But at some point, they all start to blur in front of her eyes, start to blur into pain. Her father's pain, her mother's, Jon's; she can feel it, almost as if it's her own.

Jon's hand is on the small of her back and he picks up the embroidered scrap of cloth, tracing the rose with his thumb. "Sansa?" he asks gently.

She pushes herself to her feet, almost crumpling the letter in her fist, until she remembers she has no right to do so. How does she tell Jon that his entire life has been a lie? Will he even understand? She starts walking up and down the room, feeling Jon's eyes on her as she does so. He whines and growls. _Seven Hells,_ she needs to calm down, her pacing is making him anxious. 

She picks up her brush and walks back to the hearth to sit down next to Jon. Perhaps if she keeps her hands occupied, it will be easier to think. It is not. Her hands tremble, and her breaths grow shallow. 

Jon sits down behind her, his thighs bracketing hers, and his hands slide down her arms until he's covering hers. She leans back, allowing her back to find the solid support of his chest, but she almost immediately pulls back, hating herself for letting him soothe her when she should be the one comforting him.

Still, she lets him take the brush from her hand. She lets him lace the fingers of his free hand through hers and squeezes them before he releases her hand again. He's gentle and patient as he brushes her hair, and he even starts humming under his breath. From time to time, he puts the brush down to run his fingers through her hair, to sniff a strand or kiss it or rub it against his cheek. She leans back against his chest again, takes his hand and holds it over her stomach, closing her eyes and humming tunelessly as he buries his face in her hair. 

She wishes this moment could last forever, that her father's letter didn't exist--even if the truths that are revealed in it render the feelings that have started to blossom in her heart less vile--that the outside world wasn't real and that they could stay like this, but she knows she has to disrupt it and tell him what she has just learned.

She explains to him that Eddard Stark was not his father, that Lord Stark never fathered a bastard, that he lied to all of them to protect Jon, whose name isn't even Jon Snow, but Aemon Targaryen. She tells him that his mother was Lyanna Stark, that she wanted to fight for him, but that she wasn't strong enough to beat the fever that took her.

She picks up the piece of embroidered cloth where he's placed on top of the blanket next to his thigh and turns to kneel between his legs. "She made this, when she was still carrying you under her heart."

He takes it from her, staring at it with a furrowed brow. "Pretty," he mutters.

"Do you understand, Jon?"

He takes her hand, tracing her knuckles with his thumb, following the movement with his eyes. "Wolf-father lied. Not mine."

When he glances up at her, she nods. "But you had a wolf-mother."

His eyes drop to the cloth in his hand and mumbles: "Wolf-mother."

"She was brave and beautiful, and she loved you, Jon. So much."

"Dragon-father, bad man," he continues. She can't deny that. "Dragon bad, fire bad."

"It can be, but fire is also warm, like you, it protects against the cold." She cups his cheek and squeezes his fingers.

"Dragon man bad," he insists.

"He was," she agrees. "But you are a good man." His eyes flutter closed under her touch and he shakes his head, almost imperceptible, but she feels it against her palm.

"Jon wolf, not man."

"I think you are both," she muses.

He opens his mouth, but closes it again and squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head and his fingers tighten on her hand.

She caresses his cheek. "What is it?"

He shakes his head more forcefully. Whatever is bothering him, it seems that he is not ready to tell her. "Wolf-mother dead," he says as he opens his eyes. "Wolf-father also dead. Sad."

She nods. "Very sad," she agrees.

"Sansa not dead. Sansa here. Still pack?" he asks her.

She offers him a wide smile. "Still pack," she confirms.

He wraps his arms around her waist to pull her into his lap, and she lets him, melting into his embrace. 

Sansa resists the urge to brush Jon's hair from his face as she rises from the bed. She's managed to disentangle herself from his arms without waking him, she won't risk it. She had to get up, she couldn't sleep anymore, with all the worries and questions whirling through her mind.

She knows she should talk to Jon about Robb's will, but every time she tries to think of the right way to tell him, to ask him what he wants, what he thinks they should do, she's reminded of his words during their last conversation. _"Jon wolf, not man,"_ he told her and he didn't seem to agree when she insisted he could be both.

And then there is the truth revealed by her father's letter. It saddens Sansa to think how his lies hurt both Jon and her Lady Mother, even if she understands why he had to do it. He could have told them at some point. Jon should have known. The question right now is: should anyone else know?

Robb's will declared Jon his heir, but would the lords and ladies of the North accept him as their new king if they knew the truth about him? She's afraid they wouldn't. Would they choose her instead? Would they try to turn her against him? Would it mean war if Jon's secret got out? So that means she has her answer to that question. No one can find out. 

Jon is still asleep when Satin enters the room to tend to the fire and bring her a tray of food. Sansa likes him, and she trusts him, and she believes he must know Jon better than anyone else at Castle Black. She invites him to sit down at the table with her. 

"Satin? There's something I would like to show you," she tells him. She hands him Robb's will and eats her porridge while he reads it.

"Do you understand what it says?" she asks him. He told her he can read and write a little, so she can't be completely sure of it.

"Your brother wanted Jon to be King in the North after him," he answers with wide eyes.

She nods. "He believed my sister and my other brothers were dead, and our enemies forced me to wed one of their own."

"The dwarf?" he asks her.

"Aye," she answers. "Satin, you knew Jon before, before he became like this. What do you think he would want?"

Satin sits back and rubs at his beard. "King Stannis offered it to him. Winterfell and the lordship. The Wildling Princess was to be his wife."

"He did?"

He nods. "And Jon refused him. He told Stannis 'Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.'" 

She doesn't try to hide her glistening eyes from him. She's not ashamed of them, not with Satin. He's kind and gentle. _Oh Jon,_ she thinks. _You belong there, too._

"He cares about his family," Satin says softly. "He was murdered because he wanted to save his other sister."

She balls her fists as all the untruths in those words overwhelm her. 

Satin straightens his shoulders. "Do you think we should get her back, to help him?"

She understands what he means, but she doesn't even have to think about the answer. "No."

The girl Alysane Mormont and Justin Massey took to Eastwatch is not Arya. Seeing her won't help Jon. Sansa wants to see her again, wants to tell her how sorry she is that she couldn't protect her, but for the time being, it's probably better if Jeyne stays away from Castle Black. "She's safer at Eastwatch," she tells Satin.

Satin taps his fingers on the table. "I understand you may feel as if you are betraying your brother's will, as if you are betraying Jon by stepping up, but I don't think you have another choice right now."

"I just want him to be whole again," she confesses. "Not just for him, but for me. I know that must make me very selfish... But I need him. I can't do this alone." Saying those words brings her more relief than she could have imagined. 

Satin frowns. "I think you can, but I understand that you don't want to." He opens his mouth to say more, but closes it again, his eyes drawn to something behind her back.

"Sansa?" Jon suddenly calls out from the spot Satin is staring at. He groans and drags his hand down over his face when a naked Jon approaches them. "We'll never get him into his clothes again!" 

Sansa turns and holds out a hand to Jon. She lets him take it and rub his face against her palm. "Jon, will you please put on a pair of breeches for me?" she asks him. 

She giggles at Satin's mouth falling open when Jon obeys her without any complaints or objections other than a sullen face and a disgruntled grunt. 

When Satin has left again, Sansa rises to her feet and returns to the fire, staring into the flames to think. Brienne said Jon isn't fit to rule. Satin told her he defended her claim, that he gave up his own chance at becoming Lord of Winterfell for her. Could he ever forgive her if she took that chance away from him now? She would have to burn Robb's will, or hide it, make Lady Mormont and Lord Glover take a vow of silence. Would they agree to that?

She doesn't want to take anything from Jon, but Brienne is right. If Jon thinks of himself as a wolf, and not a man, he can't be king right now, but what can he be?

His hand is on her arm, as if he's there to answer her question, and she turns around to look at him. He rubs her arm, coaxing her to step closer to him and when she does, his other arm slips around her waist, his palm resting warm and comfortable on the small of her back. 

He leans his forehead against hers and whispers her name. "Sansa."

She closes her eyes. She should tell him to stop. It's not as wrong as it was before, but it will only complicate things, and they can't afford that. 

"Sansa not sister," he says slowly, softly, deliberately and intently. His words melt on her lips, and despite herself, she closes the final distance between them, trying to chase their truth and the flavour of their warmth, and then she is pressing the lightest of kisses to his lips.

His hands travel up her arms and shoulders until he is cupping her face and her own come to rest over his collarbones, grounding her. When he kisses her back, his fingers slide into her hair, and one of her hands finds the nape of his neck.

The slight shift makes their noses bump together and both of their lips part on a soft shared huff. He slants his mouth over hers, trying to deepen the kiss, and it's as if she's drowning or spinning into a darkness she wants to welcome. She wants to be swallowed up by his kiss and his embrace, ready to take the leap and surrender, but something pulls her back from the edge, and then she is pushing him away, as gently as she can manage. 

His hands release her, and she immediately regrets it, almost begs him to touch her again, and he does, panting as he rests his forehead against hers like he did before. It's only a fraction of what she craves, but it's probably more than she deserves. "I'm sorry," she whispers, not quite certain what she is apologizing for. 

"Sansa want man, not wolf," he gathers. 

She almost tells him that he's wrong, that he must be a man, that a wolf could never kiss her like that, but she bites her tongue and pulls back to look at him. "Oh, Jon." She shakes her head. "That's not it. I do want you. But things aren't that simple."

"Yes, simple," he insists, placing her hand over his heart again. "Sansa."

She takes his hand and mimics him, placing it over her own heart, smiling up at him. "Jon," she whispers.

A grin pulls up his lips. "See? Simple."

She shakes her head again. "No, Jon, you don't understand. It's complicated."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa talks to Val, and Jon asks Brienne for advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure why there is suddenly a hint of Briemund in this, because I was planning on including Braime later on in this series, and it also kind of fucks up some other plans I had for Tormund, but, oh well, we'll see what happens I guess 🤷♀️

"Why do you call him Monster?" Sansa asks, frowning at the babe in her lap.

Val shrugs. "It's his milk name."

"What does that mean?" she asks as she tries to disentangle Monster's little fist from her hair.

"It's bad luck to name a child too early," Val explains. "He'll get a real name on his second nameday."

Sansa hands the babe back to her and smiles as she watches them. Holding Monster has revived the old dream that used to be one of the things that kept her going; to have children who look like the siblings she lost. No one will ever marry her for love, but if her husband gives her children, that might be enough for her. 

Thinking of love makes her think of the impossible. reminds her of something she's been wondering about for a while now, the true reason she came to talk to Val, if she's being honest. She bites her lip and looks at her hands. "Before, before Jon was murdered... Did you...? Were you..?" She's not even sure what exactly it is she's asking.

Val arches an eyebrow and grins. "Are you asking if I ever fucked Lord Snow?"

"Snow," Monster repeats cheerfully.

Sansa purses her lips, keeping her eyes on the child, but it's no use, her flushed cheeks will betray her. "Well, not exactly, but sort of, I suppose."

She rocks Monster on her knee. "He's a Crow," she laughs. "They're not allowed to have a woman. I thought you'd know that."

"Just because something's not allowed, doesn't mean it never happens," Sansa points out to her. 

"Aye, that's right," she huffs. "Makes me wonder why you kneelers have so many rules if no one is following them anyway."

She used to love all those rules. She believed they kept the world in order, and in some ways, she still does. "Some rules are worth following, and others are simply not fair." It's not something she wishes to dwell on right now, and Val hasn't given her a real answer yet.

"But you and Jon, you never...?" She lets the question trail off. 

"No." She shakes her head, and Monster mimics her. "Lord Crow is handsome enough, but I am a woman of the Free Folk, and he made his choice a long time ago."

Sansa is not quite certain what Val means by that, but she is relieved anyway. She watches as Val rises to her feet and lifts Monster in the air, making him chortle, before she puts him down on the floor so he can explore the room. Val rises with her hands on her hips, smirking as she turns to face Sansa.

"Why are you asking?" she wants to know.

She shrugs. "No particular reason. I was just curious."

Val throws a glance at the child again. "I thought he was your brother?" she asks innocently.

She shouldn't share any of this with Val, but her cheeks are hot again and it's not as if she's giving away the real secret. "Well, no, not exactly, no."

"Don't worry," Val says after giving her a long, amused look. "The wolf man is all yours."

Both of their heads whip up when they hear scratching at the door, and Val strides over to open it. Ghost appears in the doorway and trots up to Sansa, his muzzle full of foxhollow and pink spangles. The wolf gently places the flowers in Sansa's lap.

Val barks out a laugh. "See? What'd I just tell you?"

Sansa gathers the flowers in her hands and brings them up to her face, both to hide it from Val's scrutiny, and to sniff at the flowers. There's only a hint of the typical flower scent to them. They smell woody and mossy, manly, she concludes. The scent makes her feel safe and warm. 

As she smiles at the flowers, a realization dawns on her. "I think it's my eighteenth nameday today." Did Jon remember? Or is it only a coincidence that Ghost brought her these flowers today? It doesn't matter, not really. She'll allow herself to enjoy his gift, this token of his love, where he can't see how deeply it affects her, lest she gives him more false hope if he was able to witness it. 

"Well, happy nameday then, I suppose," Val replies, sitting back as she crosses her legs. 

Sansa offers her a half-smile. Her earlier realization makes her keenly aware of the passage of time, and how long it has been since she last saw Winterfell. It's time she starts planning how she's going to get it back. Stannis Baratheon is supposed to be fighting the Bolton bastard, but there have been conflicting reports. Some of them even claim the southron king is dead. She can't sit around waiting for him to fail or succeed, she's been powerless for long enough to last her a lifetime.

"I reckon today is a good day for new beginnings," she says slowly. "I can't stay here forever, I want to go home. Will you and Monster come with me? Winterfell would be a good place for him." If she is to return to Winterfell, rebuild and restore it to once again become the home she remembers, she wants it to be as full as life as it used to be when she was a child. 

Val frowns at her. "You defended me against your own people when you didn't have to. And Tormund is very fond of you, Lady Luck."

Sansa ducks her head. "I'm not sure why he keeps calling me that."

Val reaches out to take a strand of Sansa's hair between two fingers. "You're kissed by fire. Lucky. Perhaps Tormund is right about you. Perhaps I could follow you south to Winterfell."

The Night's Watch used to be a noble and ancient order, sworn to protect the realm's borders from raiding and pillaging Wildlings. Now it's a ragtag bunch of thieves, murderers and rapists, and those are just the ones who were left after the Wildlings took over, and decided they had no other place to go, even if most of them never wanted to come here in the first place.

Brienne has grown fond of the Wildlings, or Free Folk as they like to call themselves. None of them have mocked her or told her to put down her sword. They haven't commented on her appearance or asked what parts she has between her legs. They respect her. And though Lord Snow has sent all of the spearwives off to Long Barrow, the men are all willing enough to spar with her and try to beat her in a fight.

Her muscles are sore after a morning of knocking them into the snow and dirt, but Brienne is content, it's a feeling she hasn't been familiar with for a while, she muses as she crosses Castle Black's courtyard. They still have a long way ahead of them, and she still has enough reasons to worry, for herself, for Lady Sansa and for Jai-Ser Alaric, but she's fulfilling her promise, and she's found people who are willing to accept her exactly the way she is.

Her peace of mind is brutally disrupted when she spots a familiar figure striding up to her. His feet and chest are bare, and the grotesque scars littered across his torso almost appear black against his pale skin. He is completely devoted to Lady Sansa, and she appears to trust him in ways Brienne would have thought impossible after everything she has been through, but if she's being honest with herself, Brienne has to admit that she is wary of what he is. She hasn't had the heart to tell Lady Sansa that she's seen what has become of her mother, but she will never forget, and as a man who has returned from the dead, how different is he from the abomination that inhabits Catelyn Stark's body?

He seems civil and human enough when he approaches her and greets her with a smile, but Brienne is reminded of what Lady Sansa told her. _He is still more wolf than man._ And a wolf is a wild animal. It would be unwise to get too comfortable around him. 

"Brienne?" The way he tests out her name makes it sound like a question.

She nods in acknowledgement, her fingers itching to grab the pommel of her sword for reassurance, but she's afraid to startle him. "Lord Snow."

His nostrils flare slightly when she addresses him like that, but he appears to have enough control to not act on his displeasure. He stares at his feet for a while with a deep frown on his face.

"Please, help. How make Sansa mine?" he asks when he looks up at her.

"My Lord," she mutters, clearing her throat. She opens her mouth, but closes it again for fear of looking like a fish out of water. She wonders why he's come to her with that question, feeling entirely inadequate to explain the awkward unseemliness of his request. "I don't think that's wise or appropriate," she finally manages to utter. "She is your sister," she reminds him.

He shakes his head, and as she looks down at him, Brienne shivers at the sight of so much bare skin out here in the snow.

"Sansa not sister," he announces proudly. "Sansa wolf-father. Jon wolf-mother, dragon-father."

Brienne can feel the shock pulling up her eyebrows as her lips part again. _Wolf-mother, dragon-father. Wolf-mother, dragon-father._ Seven help her. Does that mean what she believes it means? "Does Lady Sansa know this?"

He nods. "She tell me. Wolf-father's letter." He lifts his hand, but balls it into a fist as he drops it again. "Please, help?"

Apart from the scars and the lack of clothes, he looks normal and innocent as he stands there with a sullen pout on his face. Still overwhelmed by the knowledge he has just shared with her, Brienne decides it won't hurt to humour him. 

"Lady Sansa likes songs and flowers," she says slowly, "and dancing and poetry." She's not certain how that will be of any help to him, but he nods seriously.

She spots the flash of metal half a heartbeat after he does, but he's already growling and ready to fling himself across the yard. Her hand curls around his shoulder and she wrenches his left arm behind his back. As she pulls him back, she tries to get a better grip on him, but he snarls and snaps and struggles against her. 

It's taking all of her strength to hold him back, even as he starts panting and trembling, and then there is another pair of strong arms wrapping themselves around his chest, and a deep voice croons: "Easy, little crow, easy."

As she turns her head, she's staring into the face of the big Wildling named Tormund. "You all right there, lass?" he asks her.

She nods weakly. "It was only a small knife," she hears herself saying, not sure whom she's talking to. Jon Snow is beyond understanding anything she's saying, but she's not sure she's addressing Tormund either. Maybe she's just talking to herself, trying to make sense of it. "The lad just wanted to cut off a slice of apple."

Tormund grunts. "You did well, trying to hold him back. It's happened before. To him, there's no such thing as just a small knife. A blade is a blade when steel has been so cruelly used against you."

She nods. She's heard the story several times over. Lord Snow is still struggling. It should be humanly impossible. They're both easily half a foot taller than him, and he's a lot leaner as well. She doesn't know where this kind of strength comes from, but she's almost wheezing from the effort of restraining him and Tormund's steady, soothing whispers are starting to sound winded as well. 

Brienne can't sing half as well as Lady Sansa, but she knows all the songs by heart, so she starts humming _Fair Maids of Summer_ under her breath, hoping it will calm him the way it does when Lady Sansa sings to him. Tormund gives her an approving smile and nod.

She believes Jon Snow's body does feel a little less tense in their grip, and that he isn't struggling quite as fiercely anymore, but it isn't until Lady Sansa herself finds them and takes his hand, telling him that he is safe that he truly relaxes and Brienne decides to let go of him.

"You're safe, Jon," she keeps telling him, rubbing circles into his hands with her thumbs, and Tormund releases him as well. The Wildling Princess is standing next to Lady Sansa, watching them warily, lightly cupping the back of her babe's head to keep his face to her shoulder, in order to shield him from what is happening, Brienne assumes. She is surprised to find that Tormund is supporting her. When she looks at him, he claps her on the shoulder and takes a step back from her. 

Lord Snow drops to his knees, wrapping his arms around Lady Sansa's waist as he presses his forehead to her stomach. "Sansa keep Jon safe," he mutters into her belly.

A crowd has gathered around them to watch the spectacle. Brienne can hear the buzzing and hissing of their murmuring and gasps. They should get him inside again. All those people watching him may set him off again, and Lady Sansa might be upset about this later.

"You're asking what happened to him?" a woman exclaims. "Didn't you see the scars, Gal?"

Brienne's head whips up and as she turns in the direction of the voice, she can see Lady Sansa cradling Jon's head in both of her hands as she also twists her neck to look around. She's not sure how much Lady Mormont and Lord Glover have witnessed, but she fears it's enough.

Lady Mormont is still staring at Lord Snow with wide eyes and parted lips, and Brienne is quite sure she is a hardened woman, who has seen more than her fair share of horrors. Lord Glover's face, on the other hand, seems more repulsed than anything else. He spits into the snow and grumbles: "Better a girl than a volatile half-wit bastard."


	4. Chapter 4

Jon has calmed down a bit since Sansa has found him, but he's not quite ready to pull himself together. As he's lying on the snow-covered ground, his head resting in her lap, the temptation to leave his body and slip into Ghost's mind is strong, but he focuses on the soothing sound of her voice and on the pull of her fingers as she caresses his hair, grounding him with ever stroke. 

"No danger, no danger," he mutters to himself. "Safe. Just apple knife. Just apple knife. Smart Brienne. Stupid Jon."

"Y-you're not s-st-stupid, Jon," Sansa stammers with chattering teeth. A tremor disturbs her body, and when he slowly sits up, he realizes that she is shivering. He reaches up to touch her cheek and realizes her skin is icy to the touch.

"Oh no, cold!" he exclaims. "Get inside!"

He stands and pulls her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he guides her back inside. She's cold, and it's his fault. She had to stay out in the snow for him. 

When they're standing in front of the fireplace, he takes her hands in between his and rubs them. "Sorry, Sansa," he tells her, not meeting her eyes, but he doesn't miss the weak smile she offers him. He takes off her cloak and sees that the back of her dress is soaked. 

When he starts untying her laces, Sansa hisses his name. He stills his movements and curls one hand around her shoulder, turning her to face him. He pulls her closer and kisses her temple.

"All right," he murmurs into her skin. "Safe. Need off. Wet."

When she nods, he helps her undress and they hang her clothes by the fire.

She's hugging herself, rubbing her arms and still shivering. Jon wraps his arms around her and he can feel her go rigid against his body.

"All right," he murmurs, holding his hands away from her bare skin. "Cold, need warm. No look, no touch."

When he pulls away to look at her, she smiles and melts into his embrace. The scent of her hair and her skin are so sweet and tempting, and holding her soft, naked body against his own is both bliss and torture. It’s hard to ignore the feeling of her cold breasts pressed up against his chest, and the way her puckered nipples brush his skin when she shifts.

A shiver runs down his own arms and spine, one that has nothing in common with the ones caused by the cold that is still affecting her. He gulps and squeezes his eyes shut, occupying his hands by rubbing her arms and back.

"Want look, want touch, so pretty," he confesses, startled by the rough sound of his own voice, "but no," he reassures her.

She trembles and jerks and suddenly he feels warm liquid trickling down his shoulder from the spot where she's pressing her face into his skin.

"Oh no, no cry." He kisses the top of her head. "Safe, safe," he soothes her.

"I know," she whispers.

He doesn't understand why she is still crying then, but as long as she feels safe and she'll allow him to help her, it doesn't matter him. He lets her bury her face in the crook of his neck, wetting his skin with her tears and he kisses her hair. 

"Jon make you warm," he promises her, rubbing her arms and back and shoulders. 

Sansa has gone outside again to talk to some people. Jon has decided it's better for him to stay in until he's better. He still needs help in order to court Sansa, but he'll ask Satin later, when he comes to tend to the fire or brings him his food. She liked the flowers Ghost brought her. He remembered that, that she liked flowers, and Brienne confirmed it when he went to talk to her. Jon wanted to give another girl flowers once, but she laughed at him.

 _Songs and flowers. Dancing and poetry._ He can always send Ghost out to find more flowers, but he can't sing or write poetry. He wouldn't be able to find the right words, and even if he did, he doesn't remember how to put them together in a way that makes sense. Talking is still difficult to him.

He wants to get better, mostly for his Sansa. He can tell she's been upset for the last couple of days, and he wants to help her, but he doesn't know how to do that as long as he is more wolf than man. He can hold her and kiss her and keep her safe and warm, but as long as he doesn't get better, he isn't of much more use to her.

He has her heart, and she loves him, whether he is a wolf or a man, but she wants him to be a man. He wishes he knew how to become what she needs him to be. 

The door scrapes open and Jon leaps to his feet. It's all right, it's only Satin. He's an ally, they can trust him.

Jon offers him a grin and stalks over to him. The young man flinches back when he sees Jon approaching. He stops and frowns.

"All right. Jon safe," he assures him. "Friend."

Satin clasps a hand over his mouth. "I, I can't-Are you really talking to me, Lord Snow?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. "Jon talk all the time."

"To Lady Sansa," he points out with a grin. "You never talk to anyone else."

"I talk to Brienne," he says proudly.

"Did you? That's wonderful, my lord."

He nods vigorously. "I ask her: how make Sansa mine?"

The smile he offers Jon back is odd, almost sad. "What did she say?"

"Dancing," Jon answers. "Satin teach Jon dancing?"

Sansa had Brienne deliver a message to Lady Mormont and Lord Glover that she was expecting to meet them in the hall of the King's Tower. Sansa was worried that Jon might not let her go or would want to come with her, as he had been clinging to her for hours, but to her surprise, he was the one to suggest it would be better if he stayed inside and she went to talk to them by herself. 

Ghost finds them as they are crossing the yard, and his arrival brings some relief to the tightness in Sansa's chest. The wolf follows her and Brienne into the hall, and he sits back on his haunches as she takes her own seat. 

"I'm still wondering what Stannis was thinking, believing all these Wildlings would fight for him," Lord Glover mutters to Lady Mormont as they approach her.

She can't completely disagree with his annoyance. She's had a couple of conversations with Tormund, which made it all too clear to her that the Free Folk would never follow someone who wants them to bend the knee. But from what she's heard in Tormund stories, she believes they might follow Jon if he asked them to. 

"Lady Stark?" Maege Mormont asks after they've exchanged greetings. "What happened to your half-brother?"

Sansa reaches for Ghost, carding her fingers through his fur, and two sets of eyes follow the movement of her hand. _He is not my half-brother,_ a voice inside of her insists, but that's not something she can share with them. So she tells them about the attack and the fights. She reveals how someone remembered to put Jon's body in one of the ice cells. She doesn't tell them that he is more wolf than man, nor does she talk about the bond between him and Ghost she herself barely understands. 

She never says that Jon was dead, but she does have to divulge that they tried to burn his body, and that when they did, he rose from the pyre. It's a fantastical tale, even without the details she chooses to withhold.

Lord Glover is pacing, trying to make sense of it all, Sansa suspects, just like she still is whenever she allows herself to think about it, but Lady Mormont just looks at her, still and quiet. 

Finally she breaks the silence. "You should have told us, my lady." Lord Glover halts his pacing to come and stand by her side, expressing his agreement with a sharp nod. 

Sansa's fingers tighten in Ghost's fur. She draws strength from his presence. He gives her courage, just like Jon does. It must be because he's a part of Winterfell, just like she is. 

"I did tell you," she reminds them. "I told you there had been an attack, and that the Lord Commander had been incapacitated and was unable to speak to you."

"Aye, you did," Glover admits, "but this state he's in, what he's become..."

"He's not dangerous!" She takes a deep breath, to keep the pitch of her voice from rising. "And he isn't a half-wit either," she adds. "He just needs time to heal."

Lady Mormont offers her a sad smile, and Sansa wishes she wouldn't. "You can't be certain about that, though, can you, my lady?"

"I am," she insists. 

Lord Glover shakes his head, throwing up his hands. "We don't have time anyway. You're the better candidate, my lady."

Sansa takes a deep breath, keeping her face blank. "Even though I'm only a girl, my lord?" She strokes Ghost's head, pursing her lips to suppress a smile. 

"You know what men can be like, my lady," Lady Mormont answers emphatically. She grins at her companion when she adds, "I'm sure Gal sees the errors of his ways and is prepared to apologize for his insolence."

If looks could kill, Sansa is certain Lady Mormont would have already dropped to the floor, but then Lord Glover turns to her with stiff shoulders.

"I apologize for my... _earlier impertinence_ , my lady." Lord Glover's face is sour, as if forcing out the words leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. "I was wrong."

Sansa strokes Ghost's head and waits. "I accept your apology, my lord." She doesn't believe it to be sincere, but for now the courtesy of it will suffice.

"And I thank the both of you for your support. But what about Robb's will and Jon's claim? I know he is not fit to rule right now, but we can't simply ignore it."

"His claim is an issue," Lady Mormont acknowledges.

Lord Glover nods. "It could mean trouble. Especially in his, um, vulnerable state."

Lady Mormont hums in agreement. "Someone might try to take advantage of him, use him against you, my lady."

She wants to say that Jon wouldn't let them, but what if they hurt him or threatened him? She doesn't know how to protect him, and for now, neither Lady Mormont nor Lord Glover have any answers to that question yet.

As Brienne escorts her back to the armoury, she suddenly comes to a halt and glances around them as if checking to see whether anyone is near.

"My lady?" she asks.

"Yes, Brienne?"

"When your-when Lord Snow came to me this morning, he said something." When Sansa glances up at Brienne, she is pursing her lips, and her head jerks to the side, as if she's changed her mind. But then she continues anyway. "He claimed you weren't his sister and he said something about having a wolf-mother and dragon-father. Is that true?"

Sansa stares at her for a moment. "He told you that? He shouldn't have." She can't have Jon running around and telling people he's a Targaryen. "Do you understand what it means?"

"I do, my lady," she answers gravely. "I swear I won't tell a soul."

"I never doubted that Brienne. The question is, will he? I'm not sure why he decided to share that information with _you,_ but what if he reveals it to someone who might try to use it against him?"

Brienne opens her mouth, but closes it again almost immediately, as if thinking better of it. "You should probably try to explain to him why it's unwise to tell people the truth."

Sansa sighs. "I should. I never considered it, to be quite honest. He never used to talk to anyone besides me." Though Jon's openness about his true parentage is concerning, the fact that he has started talking to someone other than her is a good sign.

Brienne seems to agree. "It _is_ an improvement of sorts," she points out.

"I suppose that it is," she admits with a smile. It's flicker of hope amidst everything that is threatening to overwhelm her, though it strikes her as odd that Jon would seek Brienne out for advice. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea take a leaf out of his book and seek some counsel herself. 

Glover and Mormont are her bannerman and bannerwoman, but she doesn't know them, and she most definitely does not trust them yet. Yet, there are others she does like and trust, unexpected choices perhaps, but they are here and she needs to share her burden. 

"Perhaps Jon had the right idea though," she tells Brienne.

"My lady?" she asks, confusion pulling her face into a frown. 

"Will you go and find Val and Tormund for me and ask them to come to the armoury?"

Brienne's frown deepens, but then she nods. "Of course, my lady."

Satin is tending the fire when she enters the room, glancing up to offer her a small smile, but Jon walks up to her with a wide grin on his face. He takes her hand, pulling her and pushing her away again to make her twirl around. 

"What are you doing?" she giggles.

He tugs her closer again, holding her hand between his. "Satin teach Jon dancing," he announces proudly, "for Sansa."

When she throws Satin a questioning glance. he only shakes his head, one corner of his mouth curling up.

Brienne, Val and Tormund arrive soon after, and Satin pours out tankards of ale for all of them. Jon gives them all ugly glares and growls under his breath as he hovers around Sansa. 

"It's all right, Jon," she assures him, taking his hand. "You're safe, they're your friends."

"Sansa safe?" he asks her, keeping his voice low.

She squeezes his hand and smiles. "I'm safe."

And then she tells all of them about Robb's will and about Ned's letter. Satin stares at Jon in awe when she reveals the truth about his birth, but neither Val or Tormund seem impressed. They don't seem to understand how Jon's parentage changes anything about his claim to Winterfell and the North. 

"He's still the same man, isn't he?" Tormund points out. "Or at least, he will be, once he's better."

So Sansa tries to explain it to them, and she shares her worries about their conflicting claims. All the while, Jon is pacing behind her, making her nervous, but she doesn't wish to stop him. The room full of people is making him anxious, and he's trying to stay calm. 

Satin and Brienne are quiet when she's finished her explanation, but Val huffs. "Kneelers," she scoffs, shaking her head. "Always making things more difficult than they need to be."

Sansa purses her lips. Val is probably not wrong, but even if she isn't, that won't change anything about Sansa's reality in fact being difficult and complicated. 

"Do you remember Sigorn of Thenn?" Tormund asks her.

Sansa frowns. She does. Tormund told her about him, and about the marriage Jon had arranged between him and Alys Karstark, but she's not sure what the connection to her own situation is. 

"His father Styr was Magnar before him," he continues, "but he wasn't born for it. When the previous Magnar died, he only had one surviving child, a daughter, and most of the Thenns wouldn't agree with a woman becoming their new Magnar. Styr was only the son of the Magnar's younger brother, but he had the support of most of his tribe to succeed the old Magnar, even though there were a couple of others who wanted to press their claims."

She nods. She can see the similarities, but she's still not sure where Tormund is going with his tale. 

"Still, there were some who said it wasn't right, that there should be a vote, or a fight for the candidates to prove themselves. It never came to that. The previous Magnar's daughter offered to marry Styr to strengthen his claim, and that settled the matter."

Sansa is quite certain she's following him now, but she can't quite bring herself to say it, or even think it. Her breath hitches, and her heart flutters inside her chest. 

"You kneelers do marry your cousins, right?" Tormund inquires with raised eyebrows. "We try to avoid that where I come from, but the Thenns are different."

They're all quiet, avoiding the others' eyes, as if none of them want to be the one to break the silence and verbalize what Tormund is suggesting.

Jon doesn't have any such qualms though. He stops his pacing and walks over to wrap his arms around her waist from behind her.

"Sansa marry Jon?" he asks, both disbelief and joy apparent in his excited whisper.

It makes sense. It would unite their claims. It would mean they could give in to their feelings.

She turns around in his arms and nods, giving him a shy smile as she rests her hands on his shoulders. His responding grin is wide and lights up his face.

He presses his forehead against hers and then he kisses her, lifting her feet off the ground to twirl her around.

Breathless laughter escapes from her lips and she can feel butterflies in her stomach. When he puts her down again, she only sees him, all the others in the room completely forgotten.


End file.
